My drinking has not helped. Nor has the deluge of personal issues that anyone who knows me has been forced to listen to me slovenly meander over in my usual articulate manner.
It is my firm belief that these things, plus a general sense of unease about my future in this world, lead to a dream that has been haunting me since I had it on Wednesday of last week.
(Some parts of this won't make any sense to some of you. I'll do my best to expound certain things.)
I was in the basement of my friend Tony's house. His father was teaching me a school lesson about something of great importance, but I wanted to get the hell out. A fire alarm gave me this chance, and I sprung out of the basement and up into the living room, opening the back porch door and running down the stairs into the woods between the houses.
In the woods I saw many a majestic animal, and began taking pictures with my camera, stalking a small deer until it lead me into a great open banquet hall flanked on all sides by trees and gardens. I was mesmerized by the place, and could see the houses of my childhood over the tree tops. I needed to know what this place was, and why the deep forests of my youth had been razed in order to make it.
A jogger came by, and I recognized her as the older sister of my own sister's best friend. She didn't remember me, and I made no mention of how we knew one another. I simply allowed her to show me around the place until I came to a small clutch of tents.
From one of these tents stumbled a girl who I had had a crush on in the second grade. Maybe the third grade. Who knows. Unimportant. What was important to me in the dream was that she was obviously under the power of several controlled substances, and began throwing herself at me in the most debasing and disturbing sexual sense.
When she tackled me into a bed of bleeding yellow flowers and took off her shirt I saw something disturbing. Across her back was a sort of black tattoo, like the floor plan of a stadium, all small squares and cross hatches created out of a series of small lines. But I as I got closer I saw they were actually cuts, old and new, thousands of them.
In her slurred dialect she informed me it was ok, that she was better now, on better drugs, and the demons were gone. I stared at her as she ran her fingers over them scars and scabs.
And then I woke up.
I suppose the purpose of this is just to give an insight into my mind at the moment. My attempt in this blog is to be as honest and forthcoming as possible. And this dream has been working on my mind since I had it that night.
I'm not one to put an importance on dreams where I lunch with Hunter S. Thompson and sing the Beatles with a small cat, but this one seems to actually have a psychological genesis.
Feel free to disregard this post.
I know I am.
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